


Hyacinthinum

by GodlingCaptainChristina



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demisexual Grantaire, M/M, Oblivious Grantaire, Pining Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 07:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodlingCaptainChristina/pseuds/GodlingCaptainChristina
Summary: Enjolras has been acting weird and Grantaire isn't sure how to act like a normal human being around him anymore.





	Hyacinthinum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rhythmicbibliophagist](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rhythmicbibliophagist).



“Grantaire, can you come here please?” Enjolras asked. He was shuffling his papers into order still, so he hadn't looked up yet. Honestly, Grantaire was really grateful for that. It gave him a little time before he had to look into those steely blues. He never was prepared to look at Enjolras, but, being this close, seeing his _eyes_ , that would be a special kind of torture. 

_Good god, his hair looks soft_ , he thought, trying to keep his lovelorn sighs to a minimum. There was no controlling how loud they'd be, but maybe he could just … not sigh for a few minutes. 

Combeferre grabbed his shoulder when he passed by. Grantaire shouldn't have been as surprised as he was. At least it snapped him out of his reverie. 

“Thank you for this,” Combeferre said. “It means a lot.”

Grantaire scoffed lightly. “It's just a few posters, Ferre.” He shrugged and Combeferre dropped his hand. 

“It's not.” But he let Grantaire go without another word. 

For a few moments, he held perfectly still, hoping his previous bravado would hold after _that_ conversation. Maybe he'd just keep his blind flailing to a minimum. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras called, still absorbed in his papers. 

_Fuck._

Everything inside him quivered just looking at Enjolras, he didn't know what he'd do when Enjolras actually looked at him. He'd probably implode. All of the bric á brac and the vague structures that made him up would just collapse in on themselves and he'd be left a pile of mush on the floor from the sheer power in those blue eyes. 

Ignoring his panic, he stepped up to the table. He kept his eyes down, on Enjolras’ papers and his own sketchbook. Avoiding Enjolras’ eyes was the way to go on this. 

“Okay,” Grantaire started. “What ideas do you have so far?” He shuffled carefully through his sketchbook to a new page, untainted by Enjolras’ face, or weird dinosaur Joly’s.

For the next hour, they focused, heads down, on the poster drafts. Enjolras was torn between something simple to just get the message across, and some sort of grand statement. Grantaire tried picking through his ideas until something feasible came through. 

Every idea Grantaire threw out was almost immediately shot down. The longer they stayed there, the less that got done. 

It wasn't enough. Not nearly. 

They both left the Musain angry and tired. There was no such thing as ‘middle ground’ between them, apparently. 

 

 

 

Sleeping provided even less rest than Grantaire was used to that night. He tossed and turned, trying desperately not to think about golden fury and icy eyes. 

Days later, after a grand total of eight hours of sleep, Grantaire found himself in front of his easel, painting a fiery red creature, dripping molten gold, with two glowing blue slashes of color for eyes. 

He frowned at it, thoughts of Enjolras’ eyes banging around his head. Of that furrow between his brows almost constantly. Of his fair hair falling into his face. Of his surprisingly dark eyelashes. 

_I wonder exactly how blue his eyes are?_ he thought. Normally, he ball parked somewhere between glacial and sky blue, but sometimes he went for a more deep-sea blue. 

That was the problem with pining from afar, you never got as many details as if you’d pined from up close. It didn’t matter how much Grantaire watched him, he’d never get a perfect look at Enjolras’ eyes from his corner of the Musain. 

Enjolras kept talking to Combeferre, completely oblivious to Grantaire's gaze. Like always. 

 

 

 

Grantaire almost didn’t notice it happening. One moment, he was working on the newest draft of the ABC’s poster and the next his vision was blurring into one mass of incomprehensible color. 

“Fuck everything,” he grumbled irritably. Of course this would happen today. Of _course_ his last pair of contacts would rip right now. 

Enjolras was expecting a viable draft for the poster that he couldn't even finish because he couldn't see a damn thing. Sometimes he thought he had worse luck than Bossuet. 

He plucked his ruined contacts from his eyes. Maybe they’d just gotten caught under his eyelid? Maybe they’d just rolled up in his eye? His astigmatism was getting steadily worse, so that’s been known to happen. 

Immediately, his worst fears were confirmed. Both contacts had ripped right down the middle. 

He had the worst fucking luck. 

“Fuck everything,” he repeated. 

“What's up?” Joly asked. Xe knocked xir cane on Grantaire’s knuckles lightly, smiling softly. 

Grantaire sighed and rested his head on the table. There wasn't much point keeping his eyes open now that the world was just a wash of vague color-blobs. “My contacts just ripped,” he said. “And I don't carry my glasses around anymore.” 

For the remainder of the meeting, Joly commiserated with him over the woes of contact lenses, glasses, and of bad eye sight in general. Part way through their complaining, Bossuet broke in, telling them to just get Lasik, like he did. 

“You broke 27 pairs of glasses in five years,” Grantaire said and raised an eyebrow. “Lasik was cheaper for you at that point.” He twiddled with one of his pencils absently. When he dropped it off the table and couldn't find it again, well that was expected and probably deserved. 

“Grantaire,” the blob that was supposed to be Enjolras called. Suddenly, Grantaire was hoping that aliens wouldn't come down and replace anyone in the next couple hours because he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. He could end up surrounded by bad impersonators and not have a clue because his contact lenses were horrible traitors. 

“Coming,” he yelled back. “Can you wait outside, Joly? I don't know if I'll be able to find my way home alone right now.” 

“Yeah,” Joly said. It sounded like xe was smiling. “Don't take too long though, okay? It's taco night and I don't trust Musichetta with the queso.” 

Grantaire smiled and turned towards Enjolras. As soon as he turned around there was some kind of strangled noise from where Enjolras was standing. Grantaire frowned. “Are you okay?” 

Enjolras cleared his throat before speaking. “I'm fine,” he said. “How’re the posters coming?” 

_O-kaaay? What is going on with you?_

“They’re fine.” Grantaire narrowly stopped himself from that being a question. His progress on the posters should’ve only been a question to Enjolras. “I didn't get to work on them much today, but they're coming along fine.” Grantaire inhaled slowly. “I think that I'm finally coming up with an idea that'll actually work and look good.” He wanted to brag so, _so_ much. After all the hard work that'd gone into those damn posters he deserved to brag a little. 

But not in front of Enjolras, probably. Enjolras already thought that he was the bane of all existence; he didn't want to add to that image by being a self-righteous prick. 

“Good, good,” Enjolras said. He ran a hand through his hair and, maybe licked his lips? It was really difficult to tell, but it would've been harder if Enjolras had decided to stand further apart. “Did you see the handouts today?” 

_What?_

“What?” 

Enjolras ducked his head. “Did you see the-?” 

“Yeah, I heard the question, Jojo. I'm just wondering what the hell is going on?” Soon, Grantaire'd have to start a mental swear jar. Probably much sooner if he kept letting nicknames like that slip out. 

Enjolras’ flushed. Which must have been really remarkable because even Grantaire, blind as he currently was, could see. 

“I was just wondering!” Enjolras growled. The blob that was Enjolras shrunk even more. “Is that so bad?” 

“I haven't looked at the handouts in literally months, Enjolras,” he said. “Why would I have looked at today’s?” 

“So you can see the meeting agenda!” Enjolras snapped. 

Grantaire reared back a bit. What the fuck was going _on_ with Enjolras today? “There's a marker board just over there with the meeting agenda,” he said and pointed at said marker board. “Also, how many times have you refused to pass out the handouts so as ‘not to contribute to the destruction of our planet’?” 

Enjolras groaned loudly. If that loud, angry noise could rightfully be called just a groan. “You're the most frustrating man on the planet.” 

“You're one to talk!” Grantaire spat. “All you ever want to do anymore is pick fights!” He shoved his sketchbook inside his messenger bag. Looking for the pencil he'd dropped earlier wasn’t fucking worth staying here any longer. 

“That's not true,” Enjolras argued. He sounded different. If Grantaire didn't know better, he’d say he sounded almost desperate, though Grantaire couldn't even begin to guess why. “We do more than argue.” The way he said it sounded like he wanted to shout it, like he wanted to turn it into another argument. 

“Since when, Apollo?” he asked. He couldn't deal with this shit tonight. “I'll have Joly give you the designs tomorrow.” He turned away and started leaving. There was no point in staying. 

Just as Grantaire reached the door, Enjolras shouted, “Wait!” He waited. Whatever Enjolras had to say, it sounded like it'd been festering for a while. They hadn't had such a long conversation in a long while. 

He still didn't know why either. They used to hang out without so many problems. Mostly around the rest of their friends, but not always. Sure, Grantaire was antagonistic and cynical, but it wasn't _him_ who’d gone cold. 

“What Enjolras.” Grantaire was so tired and he was getting the first twinges of a migraine. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, which was a good enough start. “I shouldn't have snapped. It's been a bad week and I was taking it out on you. I shouldn't have and I'm sorry.” 

Grantaire snorted. 

Enjolras stepped closer, close enough for Grantaire to finally differentiate between his hair and his face. He reached for Grantaire’s elbow, but hesitated. 

“Let me make it up to you?” Enjolras asked. “I can take you out for coffee tomorrow?” 

Grantaire bite his tongue sharply to stop his worse thoughts. He inhaled slowly and smiled. “Careful, Enjolras, or I'll think you want to date me.” 

_As if._

Enjolras made a noise that Grantaire usually associated with his eyebrow twitching. Well, that certainly told him everything he needed to know about Enjolras’ thoughts on them dating. Something in his stomach curdled at the thought of Enjolras’ obvious distaste, if not outright disgust. There was never any real chance that they would _ever_ be together, but hearing actual evidence of it was something else entirely. It didn't matter how many times he told himself that it wouldn't happen apparently because this hurt worse. 

“Do you ever listen-?” 

“I’ve got to go, Enj. Joly’s waiting downstairs.” He stopped in the doorways for a moment. “I’ll text you.” Before anything else could be said, Grantaire dashed out. Better rude than almost crying, right? 

 

 

 

“So, what's the news?” Bossuet asked when Grantaire got off the phone the next day. “Contacts ordered and on the way?” 

Grantaire sighed, shoving his glasses up to rub his eyes. “No, I wish.” Fifteen minutes on the phone for nothing. “They won't fill outdated prescriptions,” Grantaire explained. “I set up an appointment for Thursday after next because that was the closest available. But until then….” He wiggled his glasses a bit. 

“That sucks, dude,” Bossuet said. “I remember those days.” He looked off into the distance, and sighed. “So many pairs of glasses. So little time.” 

“That's why you got Lasik, Bo.” Grantaire was not impressed by his theatrics. “And before you suggest that I do that too, my eyes haven't stayed the same prescription twice ever.” 

Bossuet smiled. “Your eyes are on a worse downward spiral than you ever were.” 

Grantaire gasped, mouth dropping open dramatically. “I am so offended! I have never been so offended in my whole life-”

“What about that time in Tours?” 

“-besides that time in Tours.” 

“The time in Tours doesn't count,” Joly argued. “Here.” Xe handed them both a mug of tea. “It should help ward off bad spirits.” 

Grantaire smiled. His friends were so weird. When he lifted the mug to his mouth, he was abruptly reminded of another drawback to glasses. 

_“Fucking-!”_

 

 

 

By Wednesday, Grantaire had mostly forgotten that he was even wearing his glasses. As long as he could see, there wasn’t much a difference. Mornings were basically the same too. He’d always showered before he put in his contacts, so now he just… skipped that step. 

“Oh my God,” someone whispered. Badly. Whoever that was they were probably the worst whisperer that Grantaire had ever heard. 

“Oh my _God,_ ” they whispered again, as if the second time would make whatever they were ‘oh my God’-ing over make more sense. Which, in Grantaire's experience, almost never worked. 

Well, there was one time, in Toulouse, but, he maintained that that was different. 

“Nice glasses!” Courfeyrac yelled. He elbowed Enjolras with a grin, for some reason. But really, why did Courfeyrac ever do anything? 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, they're super.” _What even?_ He sat down with them and pulled out his sketchbook. 

While Grantaire pointedly ignored them, Courfeyrac and Combeferre were giving Enjolras some very pointed looks. Honestly, Grantaire would never understand those three. Jehan sometimes only spoke in iambic pentameter, but they still made more sense than those three weirdos. 

“Enjolras has something he wants to tell you,” Combeferre finally said. Well, less said and more demanded. 

_“What?”_ Enjolras squeaked. He flushed bright red. 

Grantaire set down his pencil and looked up. “Yes?” He blinked at the three of them, eyes roaming over them without settling anywhere. 

Something was going on with them. 

“I like your glasses!” Enjolras shouted, beet red and refusing to look up from the table. There wasn't even anything in front of him that he could pretend to be interested in. 

“Thank you?” He wasn't really sure how he was supposed to react to that. “Did Musichetta put you up to this?” 

That would be like her, but honestly, it was entirely uncalled for. Grantaire wasn’t nearly self-conscious enough about his glasses to warrant this. Somehow putting his crush up to complimenting him was a bit far for something as small as his glasses. 

Enjolras turned even redder. For a second, Grantaire was convinced that he'd just drop his face into his arms to hide. He didn’t, though, settling in for just hiding his face in his hands, instead. 

“Oh my God,” Courfeyrac whispered, wide-eyed. “How is that even _possible?_ Can humans actually be that oblivious?” 

“I don’t understand.” Grantaire frowned. 

“No, apparently, you never do,” Combeferre said. Harsh. And rude. 

Grantaire rolled his eyes and picked his pencil back up. He wasn't working on the poster design right now, but even attempting to avoid drawing Enjolras for the next small eternity was better than listening to this conversation. And, take it from Grantaire, not drawing Enjolras, when he was literally two feet away, was damn near torture. Enjolras was ridiculously photogenic, even when he was fire hydrant red and steadfastly looking anywhere that wasn't Grantaire. 

While Grantaire drew red flowers, Combeferre and Courfeyrac bickered over whatever offensive thing that Grantaire must have done. Usually, they at least waited until he'd walked away to complain about him. He wasn't sure what he could have done in the ten minutes since he'd arrived, but he’d managed more in less time. 

“So, why are they arguing?” Grantaire whispered to Enjolras. He didn't look up, hoping that only Enjolras would hear and that maybe the other two would just drift away. “I don't understand a damn thing that they're talking about.” 

“Because they're both idiots?” Enjolras offered. “They don't really need a reason for this.” 

Courfeyrac and Combeferre quieted a little. Dirty snoops. 

“I guess,” Grantaire said. “But honestly, there are a lot better ways to flirt than fighting.” He smiled innocently down at his sketch, even though he could hear them coughing and denying. 

“No! No, it's not like that,” Courfeyrac said. Shouted really. He was always very loud, but it seemed that embarrassment took away what little filter he had. “ _We’re_ not like that. Ferre doesn't like me like that.” He shook his head almost violently. 

“What?” Combeferre asked. “ _I_ don't like you like that?” 

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened. And Grantaire looked back down at his sketch. 

“Who the fuck said I didn't like you like that?” From what little Grantaire could see now, it looked like Combeferre was grabbing Courfeyrac by the shoulders and forcing him still. 

“It didn't really need saying.” Courfeyrac’s voice wobbled dangerously. 

“Apparently, it does need saying because _you’re so wrong.”_

Finally, Combeferre seemed to notice his audience. He slid his hands down Courfeyrac’s arms to his hands and led him away. 

“Have fun!” Grantaire shouted. He grinned down at his pencils. 

“Fuck off!” Courfeyrac shouted. 

Silence settled over the café again, like they were all waiting for the shouting to start again. The only sound that they could hear from them, though was the muffled sound of a door closing and the hiss of whispers. 

“Thank you,” Enjolras said after a few minutes more. 

“For getting rid of them or for getting them together?” he asked. 

“Can't it be both?” It sounded like he was smiling, which meant that Grantaire wasn’t going to look up until Enjolras stopped _looking_ at him. He was made of fire and sunshine, and Grantaire was only human. Whenever humans looked at the sun too long, they always went blind. 

Still, Grantaire smiled too. Just a small one, pointed down at his sketchbook. Having Enjolras smile at him, while overwhelming, was probably the greatest thing to happen to him in a long while. 

 

 

 

Apparently, Enjolras was very serious about taking him out for coffee. It was like some weird apology date, but there wasn’t even the remote possibility that this could be a date. 

It felt like one though. 

Enjolras had picked him up from his apartment, but that wasn’t the problem. The _problem_ was how Enjolras was dressed- in skin tight jeans that framed his ass perfectly and that red blouse that Grantaire had ogled for hours the last time he’d worn it. His hair was glowing gold, curling around his neck just to tease him. 

Okay, no, Enjolras isn’t _really_ the real problem. He’s just stupidly wonderful and kind of perfect. The _really real_ problem is Grantaire. 

Seeing Enjolras dressed up wasn’t horribly special; he liked looking nice and put together etc. It hurt to look at him sometimes, when they were alone and it felt like Enjolras was dressing up for him. But that wasn’t his fault. That was all Grantaire. 

The problem was that Grantaire had cleaned up… everything really. He’d picked up around his apartment, did the dishes, and so much laundry. Now he was standing at the door, in an outfit that Éponine and Cosette had helped pick out for his last date. He was wearing cologne, for fucks sake! 

The problem was that he was setting himself up for disappointment. He was convincing himself that this could _maybe_ , possibly be a date and that wasn’t true, wasn’t _possible_. He was going to look around and find ‘evidence’ that Enjolras liked him. He would keep going on these pseudo-dates and keep finding little hints. He might even try to take things further, as if that would ever happen. 

He would _break_. 

But that didn't matter right then because Enjolras was looking at him and smiling. Enjolras had been smiling at him a lot lately, actually. It still made Grantaire shy away a little, even just with his eyes. 

God, he was fucking pathetic. He could wax poetic over this man, but he couldn't look him in the fucking eye. 

Grantaire could almost feel Enjolras looking at him, dragging his eyes in a slow once over. He wasn't sure what he found, but he was just glad that Enjolras didn't say whatever it was. There was a weird look on his face though, like he didn't quite know what to do. 

“Ready to go?” Grantaire asked, quietly hoping that this coffee _thing_ would be over quickly, but also not? His head was in a weird place. 

“Yeah,” Enjolras breathed. He still didn’t move. Did he really look that bad? “Yeah,” he said again. He jerked, almost like he was shaking himself. “Yeah.” Enjolras finally turned to go, but waited for Grantaire to reach his side before continuing. 

_What even-?_

“So, how’ve you been?” Enjolras asked. 

“Fine?” What the fuck was going on? They’d seen each other _yesterday_. “The poster designs are done.” That _had_ to be what Enjolras was asking about. There was no way that he just wanted to know about him. “I just need you to look over everything again to finalize it.” 

“I’m glad, but I was asking more about you.” Enjolras blushed. “I know whatever you’ve come up with for the posters will be wonderful.” 

It was Grantaire’s turn to blush then. He looked down. Instead of acting like an adult, for fucking once, Grantaire started walking faster to reach the stairs first. Maybe walking the five flights down would stop Enjolras from talking like this. Like Grantaire was talented and capable and good. Like he was worth it. 

 

 

 

Grantaire wasn’t sure why the fuck he thought that would work. Angry bigots couldn’t beat Enjolras; why the fuck would stairs be able to? Somehow, though, he’d managed to convince himself that stairs would be an effective way to keep Enjolras from being weird. 

Walking faster than his usual stroll-along-behind-snails didn’t even phase him. Heading through the park, instead of towards the Musain, did get a tiny reaction. 

“Where’re we going?” Enjolras asked. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and Grantaire kind of wanted to scream. It couldn’t be legal to look so good without even trying. “Are we not getting coffee?”

Grantaire trembled all over. God, the things this man did to him just with a few words. He breathed in until his chest hurt with it. “Yes, we’re getting coffee.” He breathed again. “I’m just taking us to a different spot than usual.” 

Enjolras smiled at him and Grantaire pointedly didn’t look up. “Is the coffee good?”

Oh, how would Enjolras look now, smiling at him? All golden hair, soft pink lips, and shining blue eyes? How long would that smile last? 

Grantaire breathed. “Anything is good compared to what you make.” 

Enjolras made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a shout, the likes of which Grantaire had only heard from Courfeyrac before. “I’m so offended! How could you say something like that to me?” he asked. Grantaire almost thought that he might drop to his knees for the act. “So cruel you’ve been to me.” He clutched at his chest and threw Grantaire a wide-eyed look. 

_Oh_. 

Before Grantaire could even think of looking away, he saw Enjolras’ eyes. He’d been so caught up in the pure joy and amusement on Enjolras’ face that he’d completely forgotten. Now, he was torn between turning away to preserve his sanity, and just staring for a little while longer. 

How had he gone so long without seeing Enjolras’ eyes? They'd known each other for almost a decade, even if they'd only been actual friends for half that time. It seemed impossible that he’d been so wrong about Enjolras’ _eyes_. 

Enjolras’ smile slipped from his face and into a frown. “What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face?” he asked. He brought a hand up to rub away whatever imagined mess must be on his face. All that did though was hide his mouth so that Grantaire could ogle at his very-not-blue eyes a little more. 

“No,” Grantaire said. He shook himself. What was _wrong_ with him? Why couldn’t he handle his ~~love’s~~ friend’s beautiful eyes like a fucking normal person? Instead, he had to lose his fucking mind over the most amazing eyes he’d ever seen. “No, sorry. I just got a little….” He trailed off. How was he supposed to end that sentence? He’d gone and trapped himself into that sentence without even thinking about what he’d say. 

Well, that was just like fucking usual. 

“A little what?” Oh, fucking- Now, Enjolras was _concerned_. Like Grantaire needed those fabulous violetvioletviolet eyes staring at him, crinkled with worry. 

“Lost in thought?” Well, that was technically true. Being around Enjolras always made him stupid. 

For some reason, that just made Enjolras look immensely fond, as if Grantaire's weird, wandering brain was endearing instead of irritating. As if Grantaire was actually someone that he should be fond of. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

 

 

 

He’d been too shocked to do much of anything whenever he’d seen Enjolras’ eyes. After the shock wore off a little bit though, Grantaire thought he might actually cry. 

The pseudo date had gone well after that. After Grantaire had seen Enjolras’ eyes. After he’d managed to stop freaking out like a lovelorn moron. 

They’d gotten their coffees and just walked around for the next four hours. He still couldn’t figure out how that happened, how they’d stayed out until Enjolras had to leave for dinner with Bahorel, Jehan, and Feuilly. 

Grantaire tried not to think of it as a date. He really did. There was no way that that had been a date. There was no way that Enjolras _liked_ him, not like Grantaire liked _him_. They would never in a million years go on an actual, real date. 

But Enjolras made it feel real. 

Enjolras walked him _home_. Enjolras laughed at all of his really bad jokes. Enjolras smiled at him. He looked at him, with those violet eyes that Grantaire was quickly falling in love with, and he _smiled_. 

“Éponine, I’m dying.” He flopped onto her couch harder than he thought he was going to. His glasses were pressed hard into his eyes, but he couldn’t be assed to move yet. He'd probably regret that later, when he had to scrub face prints and gunk off them. 

“Why are you dying now?” she asked. She probably would’ve ignored him, but he’d flopped right onto the pile of laundry she was folding. For the most part, she'd been very patient about his hopeless pining. She'd spent enough time mooning over Marius, and now Cosette, to deal with Grantaire fairly well. “Did Enjolras do something particularly heroic? Did he save a kitten from a tree?” Well, there was only so much that Éponine could be expected to deal with. 

Grantaire glared at her. “Can you at least pretend that you’re not making fun of me?” 

She raised an eyebrow at him and looked pointedly at the pile of laundry that he was still wallowing on. 

He sighed melodramatically. He’d roll off of them whenever Éponine made him. For now though, he’d lie there and soak up his ill-gotten attention. 

Finally, Éponine sighed. “Fine, what did he do?” she asked. She flopped on top of him, driving all of the air out of his lungs. “What could he _possibly_ do at this point to get you so worked up?” 

Grantaire gasped. “Fucking-” He wiggled around until Éponine’s elbows weren’t digging into him so sharply. All of the Thenardier children had such pointy joints. Much sharper than anyone else he’d ever met. Okay, it was mostly Éponine, but the other four were slowly shaping up to be all elbows. “Ow,” he complained. “Do you always have to jab me in the ribs, Edward Scissorelbows?” 

“You started it by demanding attention on folding day.” She settled more fully over him. And, okay, that was actually pretty nice. Éponine was basically a human furnace. “Now tell me.” 

Grantaire sighed. “It’s only a big deal because I’m an idiot,” he said. It was always best to establish this, even if Éponine didn’t think so. “This is only a- a _thing_ at all because I’m such a massive idiot.” 

“Shut up, stupid.” She elbowed him again, much harder than before. “You aren’t an idiot.” Her breath was warm on his neck and he kind of wanted to cry. God, he loved her so much. “No matter how much you act like one.” And the love was gone. 

He huffed. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that because I’m an-” he stopped at the sharp pinch Éponine gave him. “I’ve been _acting_ like an idiot, I’ve been avoiding actually looking at Enjolras.” 

“Oh no.” 

“Oh yes.” Already, Grantaire could feel a blush working its way all the way up his neck and across his entire face. “I don’t know how I manage to be this-” Éponine pinched him again. “Come on! I didn’t even say anything bad!”

“You were going to,” she argued. 

“I was going to say _oblivious_ , you ass.” He wiggled violently under her. He was quite done with being bullied like this. “Because _that_ is very true.” Finally, he rolled over enough that he tipped them both off the couch. Laundry followed them down. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah, you nailed that one on the head.” It sounded like she was frowning, but when Grantaire turned to face her, she was smiling. He dropped his chin onto her chest. “How the fuck did you manage to drag down so much laundry?” She giggled. 

There really were a lot of clothes around them. Grantaire was sure there were at least three separate bras on him and he really didn’t want to know whose underwear was on his face. It was black and lacey, so he _would_ assume Éponine, but Azelma was 16 now and hitting a rebellious streak almost worse than his had been. God, he really hoped they were Éponine’s. He dropped it onto Éponine’s face. 

Éponine was still laughing and now so was he. 

 

 

 

“So why are you here to complain?” Jehan asked. They sipped their tea coolly. “Normally, you go to Éponine for pity.” 

“I do not!” Grantaire argued. “And I don’t complain.” Okay, he did complain. Rather a lot sometimes. He’d complained a long time earlier when Jehan had denied him spiked tea. 

_“Tea is meant for drinking, not for drunking,”_ they’d insisted, even though drunking wasn’t even a word. 

Jehan just looked at him. They didn’t even blink, just tilted their head a bit and almost raised an eyebrow. Only almost because they had a large scar over their forehead that restricted their eyebrow raising abilities. 

Grantaire sighed. “Okay, I _may_ possibly complain. Just a little bit.” He sipped his tea to cover his growing smile. 

Jehan’s eyebrow twitched, like they wanted to raise it. They pressed their lips into a thin line, but their eyes sparkled at him. 

After a minute of just sipping tea and watching Jehan’s eyebrows twitching, Grantaire finally cracked. “Okay, fine!” He set down his tea and dropped his head onto the table. “I really need to talk to someone about Enjolras’ eyes.” He rolled his head a little to look up at Jehan. “I saw them for the first time yesterday and I was _not prepared_.” 

Jehan frowned down at them for real this time. “How have you only just seen his eyes? You’ve known each other for damn near a decade.” 

“And I was too fucking nervous to actually look at him for months when we first met.” He blushed. 

“Lord Byron give me strength.” Jehan closed their eyes. They breathed in as deeply as they could manage. “Okay. Okay, but why didn’t you look him in the eye after you stopped being nervous?” 

“Because by that point I was in love with him.” Grantaire frowned. He hated how much just saying that made him blush. 

Everything about this was completely fucking ridiculous. He couldn't look at Enjolras because his anxiety said that he should be intimidated by gorgeous, passionate blonds, then he couldn't look because his demisexuality said that eye contact with this specific gorgeous, passionate blond was a major turn on. 

“I need alcohol to deal with this,” Jehan said. 

 

 

 

“Oh my god,” Joly whispered. Xe dropped xir head into xir hands. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” Xe shook xir head. “How did you even manage this?” 

“I don’t know,” Grantaire whined. “One day, the only problem is that I'm half convinced he’s made of fire, and the next I can’t look at him because if I do I’m going to have the weirdest most inappropriate boner.” 

“Did I hear boner talk in here?” Musichetta asked. She walked in right behind her voice holding a potted cactus and three hangers. “Why are we talking about boners?” 

A blush worked its way up Grantaire's neck. He did his best to hide his face in his arms before it reached up that high. 

“Oh, look at that,” Joly crooned. Xe pulled at Grantaire's arm to try getting a better look at his face. “Musichetta, you made him blush,” xe said. Xe didn't even sound the least bit sympathetic. 

“I love doing that.” Musichetta smiled at them. She ran a hand through his hair, scratching lightly. “You always blush so pretty.” 

“Doesn’t he though?” Joly smiled at them. 

“You guys are no help at all,” he groaned. “How did I end up with such-” Before he could really start bemoaning his lack of real friends though, someone knocked on the door. “Please let that be someone with even a modicum of sympathy.” He buried his face back in his arms and waited for someone else to answer the door. 

“Hey, is Grantaire here?” 

Grantaire’s eyes flew open. He jerked up. Fuck. _Enjolras_. He ran across the kitchen, straight into the counter dividing the kitchen and living room. “I’m not here,” he whispered, leaning as far over the counter as he could. “I’m out, uh… bowling! I’m bowling!” 

Bossuet smiled evilly. “Yeah, he’s right here.” 

“Oh my fucking God!” Grantaire whined quietly. “You’re the fucking _worst_.” He slithered off the counter and onto the floor. Maybe this way, Enjolras wouldn’t see him. 

“He’s in here with us,” Joly shouted because xe is a fucking traitor. Xe smiled down at him and he kind of wanted to set himself of fire. 

Enjolras rounded the counter and looked around. Good, perfect, now Grantaire could try sliding on the floor, out of the room, and into his grave. Before Grantaire could even move to start slithering, Enjolras looked down. “Why are you on the floor?” 

Grantaire's face was on fire. He was going to die. The force of this blush was going to give him third degree burns everywhere and he was going to die. He buried his face in his hands. 

Enjolras just looked more concerned. 

“Forgive him. He’s having a moment,” Bossuet said. Grantaire could almost _hear_ the indulgent smile Bossuet must have had. 

“Alright,” Enjolras said. And instead of leaving him right then and there, Enjolras sat down beside him and leaned into his shoulder. 

_What the fuck is going on?_ Grantaire peeked at Enjolras with raised eyebrows. What even? 

“What?” Enjolras asked. If Grantaire didn’t know better, he’d say that Enjolras looked unbearably fond. Which was fucking ridiculous because Enjolras had spent the last six months avoiding him. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“You are so confusing,” Grantaire whispered. He pointedly didn’t notice that his traitor friends were slipping out of the room and leaving him to his violet-eyed doom. 

“ _I’m_ confusing?” Enjolras asked. “How am I the confusing one?” He smiled down at Grantaire, eyebrows drawing together and forming that cute little furrow that Grantaire couldn't stand from how fucking cute it was. Their eyes met. 

Grantaire buried his face in his knees once again. God, his glasses were going to be so horribly smudged after this. He’d never get them clean again. There was so much caked on gunk on them now that he was probably going to be cleaning them until he got his next pair. 

Which, to be fair, was only a few days away, but that still wasn’t the point. Grantaire had dozens of distracting thoughts readily available just so that he could avoid the point. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras prompted. Of course, with him around, Grantaire had a lot harder time just ignoring everything. He leaned harder on Grantaire and silently grounded him from freaking out. “Talk to me?” he asked. 

Grantaire groaned, but he did slide his legs out straight and laid his hands down on his thighs. It was easier to ignore Enjolras when he was curled up into a ball. He didn’t want to just ignore everything going on between them. He wanted to talk about whatever this was and figure things out, like Éponine had been telling him to do for months. 

Like _everyone_ had been telling him to do for months. 

“I don’t know,” he started. “Everything's just been really weird since you-” _stopped talking to me. Started avoiding me. Started staring at me more than Courfeyrac stares at Combeferre’s butt._ “Since the May Day protest.” 

Enjolras turned away. They both knew exactly how well that went. Smelling antiseptic still made Grantaire nauseas. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, but he didn’t look back up at Grantaire. Like looking at him was painful, or something. 

“Yeah,” Grantaire said. His legs twitched with how badly he wanted to curl up. All he could imagine though was how sad Enjolras would look if he did. “Me too.” 

“What?” Enjolras asked. He jerked away from Grantaire to stare at the side of his head. “Why are you sorry?” If Grantaire didn’t know any better, he’d think Enjolras was guilty about more than just pushing Grantaire to go to the protest. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” 

“You were in the hospital afterwards,” Grantaire said. He grabbed his pants with tight fists. It was better than burying his face in them though, so he could probably brag about that later. “You were unconscious in a freaking hospital – which I know you hate anyway- and I didn't come visit you. The whole time you were there, I just… left you there.” He laughed mirthlessly. “No wonder you started avoiding me.” 

Enjolras blanched. “What?” He choked out. “Is that really why you think I started avoiding you?” He peeled one of Grantaire's hand away from his jeans and held it tight. 

Grantaire shrugged. There weren’t many reasons to start hanging out with him in the first place. Enjolras could have been searching for reasons to ditch him for months for all he knew. 

Maybe that read on his face, or maybe Enjolras was just that distressed over the idea. Either way, he pulled further away from Grantaire and forced him to face him. For a few seconds, Enjolras just stared at him with those impossibly pretty violet eyes. 

“My avoiding you had nothing to do with you,” Enjolras insisted. “I mean, it did, but not really. These past few months have been fueled by me and my inability to deal with feelings like a normal person,” he said, which made zero sense because _feelings?_ The only feelings Enjolras had for Grantaire were weak platonic affection, irritation, and maybe some vague pity. 

Enjolras snagged Grantaire’s other hand from where it was trying to bury itself in his armpit. He pulled Grantaire to face him, which was not fair at all. Where was he supposed to look to avoid looking at Enjolras now? After a few frantic moments, he settled his eyes on their joint hands. 

“Look at me, Grantaire.” Enjolras ducked his head to meet his eyes. He licked his lips and sighed shakily. “I promise that I was never mad at you.” He sighed. “I know that I made a complete ass of myself and that it’s probably a lot easier to just ignore me from now on because I’m an emotionally constipated idiot who can’t even manage to keep one of his best friend from doubting his feelings. I don’t even know how to start explaining myself.” He shook his head and raked his hands through his hair. It looked like he wanted to just bury himself there, but restrained himself. “That’s not the point at all. I should be apologizing.” He turned back to Grantaire and-

And Grantaire was not at all prepared for this. He wasn’t in the least ready for Enjolras to not only call him best friend, but also to word vomit all of… whatever _this_ was. There was absolutely zero way that Grantaire could have prepared for this, but even knowing that Enjolras still considered them friends in the first place would have been a great place to start. He was still half working on the assumption that Enjolras had only barely tolerated him all these years because of mutual friends and finally dropped him because he proved to be an insensitive, unreliable asshole who didn’t deserve even half of the attention that he was given. The other half of his working theory had been that Enjolras had been replaced with a very poor clone/alien/Life Model Decoy with outdated memories and zero idea that Enjolras actually detested him on a visceral level. 

Mostly, he was just very distracted by Enjolras’ eyes. 

He had zero defenses against them. ~~Okay, Grantaire had zero defenses against Enjolras, period, but that wasn’t the point at all.~~ Every time that Enjolras even looked at him, he could feel his insides go wobbly. Thank fuck he was already sitting down. It would’ve been hellishly embarrassing to just slide to the floor at the first sight of violet eyes. 

Ah, there was nothing like a weird, demisexual, eye contact-initiated boner to ruin this weird quasi-apology. 

Butterflies in the stomach was such a stupid metaphor, but Grantaire understood exactly what they were talking about right then. It felt like his stomach had turned into a tiny blender filled with emotions and poor life choices. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras breathed, holding his hands tighter, pulling his attention to their joined hands for a microsecond before going to his face. “I’m so sorry.” He licked his lips and Grantaire's stomach/blender had a fit. “I don’t know how I can make up for what a horrible friend I’ve been.” He leaned closer, eyes almost glowing from how focused he was. 

Grantaire almost jumped away. He almost leaned in, too. That probably say a lot about him as a person. That those were the options that his brain came up with, either kiss his sort-of-friend, or leap the fuck away and make a huge scene while said sort-of-friend was trying to apologize for being a bad sort-of-friend. 

“There’s nothing to apo-” Grantaire started. 

“Please don’t say that there’s nothing to apologize for.” Enjolras shook his head, closing his _violetvioletviolet_ eyes briefly. “I have so much that I need to apologize for to you.” 

“Yeah, I know, but could you, just, you know, not?” Grantaire choked out. His hands would've been shaking if Enjolras wasn’t holding them so tightly. 

“What?” Enjolras’ whole face twitched briefly before settling into baffled concern- which, honesty wasn't far from the looks his behavior usually elicited. “Grantaire, I don't understand.” 

Grantaire bit his tongue. Holy mother of fuck, he didn't want to talk about this. He swallowed. His mouth was so dry there wasn’t much to swallow besides his stupid words. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras leaned closer, close enough that Grantaire could count those barely visible freckles on Enjolras’ nose. 

He couldn't do this. He couldn't sit here with Enjolras so close and pretend that he wasn't losing his mind. Before he could think better of it, he lurched to his feet. 

Joly peeked around the corner, squinting at them. _Are you okay?_ xe seemed to be asking. 

Which, no, Grantaire was not okay. He was pacing around the kitchen and he kind of wanted to cry. But crying right now would be weird and probably freak Enjolras out even more. Grantaire glared at Joly until xe left. He whipped around to face Enjolras. He was still sitting exactly where Grantaire had left him, which shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. He had been rather frantic and panicky. Enjolras probably didn’t know how to deal with him anymore. 

Anymore. Jesus fucking Christ. When had Enjolras ever known how to deal with Grantaire's freak-outs? ~~He’d dealt with a dozen the last time one of their friends was in the hospital. He was usually the one to deal with them until about six months ago. Enjolras probably knew how to deal with them better than Grantaire did.~~

“I don’t know how to be around you anymore,” Grantaire said. Definitely said because he wasn’t panicking at all. “We were okay. We were friends or whatever then suddenly you didn’t want to be around me and I don’t know how to do this anymore.” He threaded his fingers through his hair and pulled gently. 

“That’s why we need to talk more now.” Enjolras didn’t move to get up, sliding back against the cabinets. “So we can get back to normal, right?” 

_Oh no. Oh, fucking fuck._ Grantaire could feel his mouth curling around the worst possible words to say. One second, he was staring at the countertop, the next-

“What if I don’t want normal anymore?” _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_. “Fuck. Pretend I didn’t say that.” For a second, Grantaire almost felt like he was going to pass out. The world was spinning faster than he could keep up with. 

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked. He finally stood up, staring into Grantaire's soul. 

He could feel himself quivering all over and it didn’t help that Enjolras was basically stalking towards him. ~~That was probably an exaggeration, but it really, really didn’t feel like one.~~ He kept walking forward and forward and Grantaire was really running out of space to retreat to now. Stupidly, he’d backed himself into a corner, surrounded by tomato sauce-splatter cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and faux marble countertops. When had this kitchen gotten so small? 

“I really didn’t mean to say that,” Grantaire whispered. His back hit the counter and his stomach hit the floor. 

Enjolras stepped closer. “What did you mean to say then?” 

“Nothing?” he squeaked. “Is nothing a good answer? Because I really want to not talk about it.” He pressed himself further onto the counter and was seriously contemplating outright climbing onto it to escape from above. Enjolras could still probably catch him, grab his legs and yank him down, but he probably wouldn’t. He’d be in a real fucking predicament if Enjolras did though. 

Enjolras leaned forward and they were really, really close right now. Their toes were almost touching and everything else would be if not for how far backwards Grantaire was leaning. 

“No, that really isn’t a good answer,” Enjolras said. He doesn’t move closer. He didn’t really need to, now that Grantaire had nowhere to go. He just stared at Grantaire, like that would get him all the answers he wanted. 

Which, good idea actually because Grantaire had roughly one defense where Enjolras was concerned- evasion. Enjolras was very tidily removing that option. 

Grantaire could feel his pulse hammering, could hear it pounding in his ears. All he could see was Enjolras, his lovely pink lips, his very blonde hair, his frankly irritatingly perfect cheekbones- 

And his eyes. 

God, Grantaire should be at least a little used to his eyes by now. They were gorgeous and unexpected and like nothing he’d ever seen before, but that was no reason for him to be so tongue tied. ~~He had a million other reasons to be tongue tied over Enjolras. He didn’t need more. He wanted more, though.~~ It was kind of a problem how much Grantaire loved him. His eyes! Just his eyes, not, not anythi- 

“Why don’t you want normal anymore, Grantaire?” Enjolras breathed. He licked his lips and Grantaire did his best not to track the movement. “Is it something I did?” If he swallowed, Grantaire was going to die. Not only that, but he- 

_“What?”_ Grantaire sputtered, Enjolras’ words finally connecting together in his head. He jerked up and they slammed together. “Oh, _fuck_ , I did not think that through,” he groaned. He pressed his hand against his forehead and he could see one of the Enjolrases clutching his jaw. Probably. To be honest, Grantaire's vision was a little spotty. First he’d been oxygen-deprived because of Acute Enjolras Proximity, now he was trying to remember how to breathe around a possible head injury. 

“That was a little uncalled for,” Enjolras whined. “If you wanted me to back off, you could’ve just asked.” He started moving his jaw gingerly, keeping his hand where Grantaire had knocked into him. 

Grantaire ignored him. “Why the fuck would you think it’s something you did?” 

“It’s not like I’ve given you any reason to want to be around me,” Enjolras started. “And you haven’t given me any hint that you actually want me around.” He shrugged. It almost looked like this didn’t affect him, but his shoulders were slumped and he wouldn’t meet Grantaire's eyes anymore. “And I understand, R, I do. It just… it hurts and I’ve been trying to get back to where we were.” He breathed in and held it. He kept the air captive for a few seconds more before speaking. “But if that’s not what you want anymore,” his voice cracked. “If you don’t think that we can be friends anymore, I’ll respect that and- and leave you alone.” 

“You don’t get it,” Grantaire lamented. He wanted to just curl up on the floor and ignore Enjolras until things started making sense again, hopefully without his input in it. Things never seemed to work out right if Enjolras and Grantaire were working together alone. Then again, things never seemed to work out if it was only Grantaire working. 

Enjolras sighed. “What am I supposed to be getting, Grantaire?” 

Why the fuck did he want to work things out in the first place? This was awful and awkward and un-fucking-productive to boot. 

Grantaire bit his tongue on that dangerous L-word. That was the easy answer to all of this. He didn’t want to talk to Enjolras and figure it out because it might bring his feelings to light. He didn’t want to be around Enjolras more because his feelings were getting in the way. He didn’t want ‘normal’ anymore because their normal before hurt so much, but he had loved every second of it. He didn’t want normal anymore because after that normal, _their_ normal, was gone it hurt more than anything else had in a long time. 

This would be a perfect time for one of their friends to come barging in for ‘water’. Probably not Joly, because xe was more likely to just talk _for_ them instead. And Musichetta had no patience for drama, so she was out too. Bossuet though, he’d be a fantastic accidental interruption. 

As the seconds ticked by, none of them appeared and the silence stretched out. 

“Fuck,” Grantaire whispered. It felt louder than it was, like he was shouting. 

Enjolras laughed a bit. “Yeah, that sums it up.” He smiled a little. “Don’t know what to say?” he asked. 

“Do I ever?” He shoved his fingers under his glasses and rubbed his eyes. If he ever had the displeasure of watching his life flash before his eyes, he'd be sure to yell at himself right about now. He groaned. “This is so frustrating because I have the words! I do, but they're just sitting at the back of my throat and taunting me.” 

Enjolras rolled his lips into his mouth and puffed out his cheeks. He had the absolute weirdest thinking face. “Maybe close your eyes and pretend you’re talking to Éponine?” 

Well, he _had_ been complaining to Éponine about all of this for months. Complaining to Éponine was basically second nature. She was almost his Jiminy Cricket by now. If she actually decided to tolerate his bullshit at any given time, that is. 

Grantaire wobbled his head side to side briefly before relenting. He took as deep a breath as he could manage and closed his eyes. All he had to do was forget that Enjolras was there. Easy peasy. Not like Grantaire had some sort of freaky sixth sense for Enjolras. 

This was fine, everything was okay. Just him and Éponine sitting in Bossuet’s kitchen. 

“Okay, today Enjolras wanted to talk and I told him I didn't want normal with him anymore.” That wasn't so bad. It wasn't nearly the same because Éponine would likely drip soy sauce on his forehead until he forgot his woes. Again. 

_“Why did you do something stupid like that?”_ Éponine mocked in his head. 

“Because normal hurts. It hurt before because I was expecting him to eventually realize that he didn't need me. It hurts now because being Enjolras’ friend is all I'll ever get and I-” he stopped. This was the point of no return. Here was where he couldn’t brush it off anymore. “I want so much more.” 

Grantaire opened his eyes again. That was it. That was the last thing that Grantaire would ever get to say to Enjolras before being banished from his life. 

But Enjolras wasn’t glaring. He wasn't looking at him like he was disgusted. Instead, he looked… he looked almost _happy_. That weird look was back too, the one that Grantaire had been seeing more and more of, but still didn't know how to interpret. 

“Yeah?” Enjolras asked. He wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t frowning and acting like Grantaire was the gross weirdo who couldn’t make eye contact in fear of popping a boner faster than a high schooler. In fact, it almost looked like Enjolras was leaning closer. But that wasn’t possible, Enjolras wouldn’t do that unless he was interested and there was no chance that he was interested in him. 

“Yeah,” Grantaire whispered. He swallowed, eyes trailing over Enjolras’ face, creeping ever closer. 

“I would really like to kiss you, if that’s okay,” Enjolras said. He let out a soft breathe, holding as still as he could. 

“That would be very okay.” He swallowed, eyes flicking between Enjolras’ eyes and lips. When he leaned closer, Grantaire closed his eyes and hoped he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. 

It was just a kiss. Just two mouths pressed together, barely breathing, but it felt like they matched. Out of all the kisses that Grantaire had ever given and gotten, this one felt the safest. The blender he called a stomach had finally calmed enough for him to have proper butterflies. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d remembered it. 

With his eyes closed and his lips pressed to Enjolras’, all of his worry melted away. It didn't matter that he'd been in love with Enjolras for so long, it didn't matter that they'd only communicated through mutual friends for months, it didn't matter that he hadn't known Enjolras’ actual eye color for all that time. They were just two idiots trying to tell each other how they felt. 

Grantaire pulled back to look at Enjolras. He was flushed and his eyes were still closed, but he was smiling. He leaned in for another kiss. 

“I'm in love with you,” Enjolras whispered when they broke apart again. 

His first thought was that that was a lie. But Enjolras wouldn't lie about this. He knew how much this meant. 

“I'm in love with you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a drawing on tumblr by rhythmicbibliophagist of Montparnasse with Violet eyes. Of course, my brain flew away on a new train of enjoltaire.   
> Also Hyacinthinum means- hyacinth-colored/violet/blue/sapphire/purple  
> of/belonging to hyacinth. Which is also a mythology thing because Apollo loved Hyacinth and Enj is often called Apollo so R can be Hyacinth. Just ignore the fact that Hyacinth dies and Apollo grieves for a long time over him and makes a flower.


End file.
